Heroes and Monsters
by fortheloveofgeekery
Summary: Victor Zsasz crosses paths with my OC and Jim Gordon. There will be other players in the mix as I see fit. I'm excited to get into this and see where the characters lead me.
1. Chapter 1

The girl was gazing straight down into the river below. It was a long fall from her perch on the bridge, and the water was black and seemingly impenetrable. After a good look she leaned her head back and relished the cool night breeze as it tossed her natural crimson hair about her shoulders. Her legs dangled gingerly over the edge.

She felt a presence behind her at once; her body straightened up and stiffened reflexively. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to be up here alone after dark. This was Gotham, after all, but she needed to get away. Get some fresh air, or at the very least _fresher_ than most other spots in the city.

Her hand dropped to her side as she thought about the small knife tucked into her right black boot.

"I know you're there", she said evenly, hooking an arm around the beam closest to her.

Silence, for a moment, then a low, balanced chuckle. "I assumed as much", the man replied. The girl wasn't sure why, but the tone of his voice made her feel comfortable with standing, and she did so quickly, turning to face her visitor.

Clad in black, slim, shaved head. Intense eyes...she couldn't tell if they made her feel uneasy or intrigued.

"You are aware of your surroundings, I'll give you that, but I've been watching you for longer than you think."


	2. Chapter 2

Drawing in a breath, the girl moved away from the side of the bridge. She took a few steps backward to put more space between them, pushing her heels into the ground.

"Why are you here?", she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why do you infer malicious intent?" He raised an eyebrow.

That wasn't an answer she expected, and it showed. "...I'm not justifying that question with a response".

"What if I was just concerned why a pretty woman would be by herself in such an ugly place at this time of night?" He extended a hand. "I'm Victor".

Her expression was skeptical and somewhat weary. "Haley." She hesitated before shaking his hand. His grip was firm, his skin cold.

"Why don't you let me walk you home?"

She thought about this for a minute. What a terrible idea it was, reckless. Then she thought about how the monotony of her life had been killing her lately. How she sometimes felt like being dead wouldn't be all that much different from her current stagnant place in the world.

"...why the hell not. But just so you know, I'm not stupid. I know this is a bad idea."

He smiled a crooked smile. "Of course."

She started walking. He was by her side, his hands clasped together loosely behind his back. Her head was buzzing a bit, she was having a difficult time focusing. City lights seemed to blur and the ground appeared uneven.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sure. I just don't understand what's going on and I definitely don't understand why I'm going with you."

"I'm a charming guy, I've been told."

Haley kept walking. He was studying her and he wasn't trying to hide it. Combat boots, black leggings, a slouchy gray shirt that hung off of one shoulder. She gave off a vibe that wasn't common among his victims. Confident but wary. Careless yet cautious.

As they got further into the city, Haley watched people going in and out of the bars and clubs that framed downtown. She noticed a police car every couple of blocks. Loud, heated voices drew her attention to two men, obviously intoxicated and obnoxiously belligerent. She didn't care to pay attention to what they were fighting over as she stepped into the street to avoid them.

She always did have bad timing, and her effort to stay out of their way failed as one of the men slammed into her-he was pushed hard, and the unexpected force almost knocked her over. Victor stepped between the two and put an arm in front of Haley.

"I highly suggest you apologize to the lady." He glared at them vehemently.

The two looked at him with apparent fear.

"Hey, man. It was an accident. Sorry."

Victor closed his eyes for a second, taking in a sharp breath before hooking his arm around hers nonchalantly. They started to walk again.

Haley was speechless. Who the hell was this guy? Why was she okay with this situation? Was he leading her, now…?

"Are you much further?" he asked.

"Not much."

They were silent until they reached her apartment stoop. The whole time she was aware that their arms were linked together. It was out of place and uncomfortable...and something else that she couldn't peg.

She sat down on the steps and looked up at him. "Well..your good deed is done, thanks."

"You know, the cops are looking for a murderer in Gotham right now."

She shook her head. "Um...alright. Isn't that the norm?"

"All I'm saying is maybe you shouldn't wander by yourself."

"Gotcha." She was staring at him.

He nodded. "See you, then." He didn't give her an opportunity to respond.

Watching him disappear down the street, she smacked her arms against her sides and went into the building.

The foyer was dimly lit and smelled of cigarettes. She walked quickly down the hall and into her apartment, locking the door behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi, guys. I changed my OC from Haley to Wren because after sitting with it for a bit, I realized I hate the name Haley for this character. Sorry about that. I'll be going back and editing the last Chapter. I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 3

Wren tossed around in bed, stuck in a nightmare.

The setting this time was a park-an elaborate one. At least a dozen different slides, all huge and curvaceous or startlingly straight and steep. Painted bubblegum hues with neon lights chasing the sides.

Trampolines and swings and massive jungle gyms. If you couldn't have fun in this place, you were dead inside.

That is exactly what Wren was trying to do, nestled in a tire swing like contraption in the shape of a tea cup. There were people everywhere, adults and children. Laughing and screaming and snapping pictures of each other. She didn't know the person pushing her but she couldn't be bothered worrying about these things-she was simply too happy. The wind washed her spirit clean, kissed her face, and tousled her hair.

This went on for a longer period of time than usual-she never got much reprieve in her nightmares. But when the voices started fading along with the sun, when the people slowly started to blur and bleed away into nothingness, she knew playtime was over.

Everything was a shadow now, the equipment had dulled and looked rusty and aged. The grass was dead, the trees were bare, and the air stale.

She was waiting for her swing to stop so she could gain her footing and maybe get a head start. "Yeah, I know", she thought. "You're coming." She inhaled deeply, trying to psych herself up. "I know this isn't real."

Feet on the ground, now. She gets moving and looks around for something she can use as a weapon, but this location isn't the best for the task. She reaches down for the knife she keeps in her boot, but it isn't there.

A figure appears in front of her and she digs her heels into the ground, turning quickly, to go back in the direction she came from. It is a man, lanky and tall. He chases her, cackling, and she knows he could have her already if he wanted, but he stays just a clip away to keep her running.

This goes on for a while, until she is spent, and she collapses in the dirt, sobbing. She doesn't beg anymore, so she just waits for it. He looms above her, face and body scarred. He wields a knife, looking at it appreciatively before looking down at her. "Gotcha!", he squeals, and plunges it into her skin.

One slow, deep cut into her lower abdomen. When the blood starts flowing, he disappears. She weeps loudly, covering the wound with her hand, feeling the warm liquid flood her fingers. Now all their is to do is wait to wake up.

But it's different this time, and she sees a new figure upon her. She panics, clutching her stomach and starts to move away.

"Hey", the man said. "Shh. It's okay."

She looks into his face and sees calm, dark eyes looking back at her. He reaches a hand towards her free one and she grasps it desperately.

Her eyes shoot open and she is tossed back into reality.

Panting, she rests a hand on her forehead. "What...the...hell."

After a few seconds of recovery, her eyes shoot over to the clock on her nightstand. Twelve thirty nine. "Fuck." Almost an hour late for work, again.

The library was a good place for her to work. It was a type of solace for her. She always had a deep love for books, and things were always calm and quiet there. After her first couple tardies she knew she had to tell her boss about her...situation. She'd already been let go at three other jobs, because she didn't have it in her to explain why she was often late.

Nancy was a kind enough woman, and Wren was infinitely more comfortable telling her than any of her past employers.

When she looked at her with disturbed yet questioning eyes, Wren had lifted her shirt and showed her the nasty looking scar. Nancy just nodded solemnly, and from then on it was tolerated when Wren showed up late. She simply couldn't wake up when she was in the middle of a nightmare.

At seven o'clock, Wren punched out and grabbed her jacket from the foyer. She'd been contemplating it all day, going to the precinct, and she thought she had her mind made up that she would just head home. She surprised herself somewhat when she ended up walking through the precinct doors instead of her own.

The place was buzzing, as always. She meandered up to a studious looking woman sitting at a large desk, writing something on a piece of paper.

"Hi", Wren said, making the woman look up. "Is Jim Gordon in?"


	4. Chapter 4

Jim Gordon walked into his office with two small cups of coffee in his hands; one black and one with cream. He smiled kindly albeit wearily at Wren and offered her the latter. He looked stressed and tired, which came as no surprise to anyone these days.

She smiled softly. "Ah, you remembered."

He gestured for her to make herself comfortable, as she was standing awkwardly with her hands crossed over her elbows. He somehow recalled her that way, clumsy yet self aware.

Wren took a seat and smoothed out her shirt before accepting the coffee gratefully. She chewed on her lip a bit and wondered what to say, doubting she should be there at all.

"I don't want to waste your time, Jim. I probably shouldn't have…"

"How've you been, Wren?" he asked genuinely.

She took a sip and lowered her cup into her lap. "I'm...alright. Some days I'm good, you know? I don't know what I expect you to do with this information, but...I just had a very unusual change in one of my nightmares and it made me...want to talk to you."

His eyes were kind. "Shouldn't you bring this up with your therapist?"

"Yes! I know…", she winced. "You're right. I don't know why I'm here."

An officer stuck his head in the door. "Jim? Captain wants you."

Jim smiled crookedly. "S'been a long day. Are you okay? Can I do anything for you before I have to get back out there?"

Her gaze hardened, irritated with herself. "No", she replied, remiss.

He got up from his desk. "Stay for a minute if you'd like. Finish your coffee." He paused on his way out to put a solid hand on her shoulder, lingering for a few moments before leaving the room.

She did stay, draining the coffee quickly. She found herself lingering too in the space, her eyes wandering over the objects in the room languidly. She wasn't thinking about much of anything, and in his office she wasn't worrying about anything either. It was a much appreciated feeling.

The next day found Wren back in the spot where she met Victor. It was early afternoon, and the water glittered brilliantly from the light of the sun. She wasn't sure why she was there. Of course, she'd been thinking about him, but the time she left her apartment up to when she reached the bridge was oddly hazy.

Was she honestly expecting him to be there? Did she even really want him to be? He should have made her uneasy and on edge. She should be watching over her shoulder constantly and yet...the most she could bring herself to be was curious. Curious and...slightly enticed, which she knew was an awful combination.

She sighed and frowned with the quiet realization that she'd likely never see him again anyway.

Her cell phone rang and she held a hand above the screen, tilting the phone to block out the sun and read who was calling. It was her friend, Eve, and she was "just calling to check in". It had been longer than usual since they last spoke.

Wren assured her that yes, she was fine, and yes, they would hang out soon. They talked for about five minutes before Wren thanked her for calling and telling her she had to get going-which was a white lie. She didn't know what to do with herself at the moment, really. She let her mind drift like waves in the river, and remained that way until her phone rang again.

This time it was from an unknown number. She ignored the call, and a few moments later her phone was ringing again. She waited to see if they would leave a voicemail, but they hung up and called back a third time.

"Who's calling?", she answered.

"Wren? That you?", she knew the voice instantly.

"Jim?"

"Where are you?", he asked.

"I'm...relaxing. I'm probably about twenty minutes from the precinct. ..why?"

He hesitated for a moment. "We need you to come down here, please. Are you okay? Can you come now?" His voice was calm and even.

"I don't get it. What's wrong?"

"It's okay, you're fine. Just come see me. Don't speak with anyone else, ask for me directly."

"...I always do" she said, and hung up.


	5. Chapter 5

"We have to stop meeting like this", Wren said jokingly.

Jim's smile was tight but still sincere, his eyes soft as he looked at her. He cleared his throat and quietly shut the door behind them.

"I don't want you to worry", he began. "I told you I'd always look out for you, and that's what I'm doing. We...I. I am certain that we locked up the right person for your attack, and for the murders associated with it. But...it's possible we might be looking at a copycat."

Wren swallowed hard. "What do you mean by that exactly? What happened?"

"The precinct got a call yesterday from a college student that found a body washed up on the river. Same wounds...same presumed cause of death. We will know more when the autopsy comes back…" He sat on the edge of his desk in front of her and grabbed her hands. She wasn't expecting the contact, it made her twitch, but she was thoroughly grateful for it. He held her hands tight.

"You know I shouldn't be telling you this. I know in turn you won't say anything. I know you know this is part of me looking after you and being straight with you."

She nodded slowly and looked into his face. "I wouldn't betray that, Jim."

"I know. ...now, there is no evidence to assume that this person would come after you. It's just that we don't know. We don't know the motive or if this person is associated in any way with your attacker. But I need to make sure you're safe. We are going to put a car outside your building. You'll have my cell. I'll keep you up to date. Call me immediately if you notice anything off."

She nodded, her expression blank. They remained that way for a while, neither of them thinking much. It felt like a mutual reprieve.

"Now what?", Wren said eventually, her voice quiet.

"That's...up to you. Go on with your day, just be careful. Try to be mindful without having a black cloud over your head...I don't know. I'm not good with this stuff. Be wary, but at the same time know I've got you covered."

"Jim…", she was actually laughing. It faded away slowly and she became silent again, but it was not uncomfortable- for her or for Jim.

She closed her eyes and gave his hands a squeeze. "I think I'm just going to go home. I have to stop at work for a minute, but I'm gonna head home after that."

"Alright. An officer is in your general vicinity already."

"Thank you, Jim." She gave him a gentle, grateful look before standing up and leaving the room. She felt small yet significant. And scared. Very, very scared.

Her walk to the library involved alternating between short, fast steps and slower, forced strides. She was telling herself to be calm, to be normal, but this wasn't translating to her physical form. Once there, she picked up her paycheck and slipped out without much notice.

There was a bar on the way home that she marginally fancied. It was not yet dark and she knew the people. "Just a couple of drinks couldn't hurt…", she said aloud, scoffing at the current sketchy situation that was her life.

She went in through the side door, even though it was still early. The bar was dark and familiar. She scanned the space to determine her ideal seating arrangement.

Her eyes fixed on a figure sitting at the middle of the bar. She studied his profile and chewed her lip. "Jesus, is that…?.", she thought.

It was. It absolutely was him.

To be fair, she contemplated her actions before she executed them. She didn't really know if she was thinking clearly or not, but she decided it didn't much matter. She took a deep breath and walked over to the man, feigning confidence as she slid onto the barstool next to him.

His demeanor was peculiar, as if it wasn't a surprise to him at all to see her face. He squinted his eyes just slightly, a smile spreading across his face. "...wren…".

She felt her heart quicken and she nodded, looking into his face. "Victor…".

The bartender appeared in front of her and inquired what she'd like to drink. "Whiskey", she replied. The girl just looked at her. "Whiskey. Bourbon. Can I have a glass of bourbon? On the rocks, please."

Victor's smile widened. "Rough day?" He was wearing a black fitted hoodie and dark gray jeans.

Her head was already spinning, just like the first time she ran into him. "Yeah." She swallowed hard. "Are you...here a lot?"

Victor took a sip of his drink-vodka-and sat his glass down with a firm hand. "Not really. Sometimes." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "Eh. I'm fickle."

She felt herself blush. "I wouldn't peg you for the bar type."

"No?", he raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't peg you for the bar type either."

The bartender had left her drink in front of her and she hadn't even noticed. Victor gestured to it.

"Ah." She swirled the glass around a few times before putting the beverage to her lips. It didn't take long for her to feel the effects of the alcohol once she finished the drink. She didn't eat much of anything that day.

She ordered another. The alcohol made her anxiety begin to fade at the edges, burning it away from the outside in. It made her feel exhilarated. There was also something about Victor that made her feel safe, even if it was a false sense of security (which had yet to be determined).

"What does Victor do on any given day?", she asked, her expression as if she were about to hear some very pertinent information.

He thought for a minute. "I'm all over the place, sometimes. I have what some would call a job I guess, though to me it borders on more of a hobby. It can be very meticulous work. Some days, exhausting...but I'd like to think it is worth it."

She waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she looked at him curiously.

He chuckled. "A man has to have some secrets, right?"

"I guess I'll allow it." She smiled playfully and polished off her drink.

.


	6. Chapter 6

"So, are you going to walk me home again...?"

He raised an eyebrow, eyes thoughtful. "I gather that I should, considering it is late now, and you have compromised yourself…"

She giggled evenly. "Compromised myself? With what? This?", she lifted her empty glass.

His expression was smug but playful. He nodded as he flagged down the bartender to close the tab.

She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, but had no interest in it given her current inebriated state-and her company. She was trying hard not to study him.

He stood, towering over her. She liked it. She felt secure with him there, the alcohol had killed any meager suspicion she had left.

"Can you walk?"

"Of course! I'm not that drunk, sir…". She was almost that drunk. When she stood, the room swayed just slightly and her vision came in waves until she adjusted to her now upright position. Victor looked at her and raised an eyebrow but she held up a hand to dismiss him.

They commenced the walk back to Wren's apartment in silence. It was unusually quiet. Wren stole a glance at Victor every so often and noticed that he looked thoughtful and somewhat melancholy. She didn't know how to react, especially with the booze in her system. It reminded her of how little she actually knew him. Her phone buzzed.

They were moving at a fast pace considering her impairment. The sidewalk dipped and went up again after a few feet and her shoe caught on it. She yelped and tumbled forward. Victor's timing was flawless and he cooly grabbed her arm, his other hand on her side, steadying her.

"Ahah...sorry. Thanks." He nodded, smiling crookedly, before resuming their walk.

He had left something unattended at his place and thought better of it now. He didn't anticipate being gone this long. Admittedly, he had been a bit off his game. He chewed on his lip, mulling over the current situation. It was irritating. He wasn't supposed to have to deal with such things, to consider anyone else, or live with anything that wasn't completely instinctual for him, even. He was smart and calculating and unburdened. Powerful.

He stopped and looked down at her. "Are you happy with your life, Wren?"

The break in stride was unnatural and it made her feel clumsy. She contemplated, her face falling for a second, taken aback by the question and reminded of her grief. But she looked up at him, then, reached for him and brushed her thumb over his pale, smooth cheek. "I'm okay with it at the moment." Her eyes big and genuine.

He took in an even breath, eyes locked on hers, expressionless. "I don't know what to do with you, kid. Honestly."

She didn't break his gaze. His response wasn't ideal but it didn't phase her. She wanted to know this man. "I...don't know what to say to that…but that's okay."

He let out a low, brief chuckle. "Come on…I need to get you home."

"Why?", her voice was quiet.

"It's late. And I have something to tend to. And you're drunk."

She didn't want to press him. "Will I see you again?"

He thought about this. "I'll be around."

She didn't realize that they started walking again. It was all going too fast.

They were on her block now. The usual cars lined her street-with one addition she did not notice-as they closed some distance between them and her building-but Victor did.

"I trust you'll be okay from here", he turned.

"What?"

He motioned toward the police car parked across the street from her building, about 4 cars down. "You have a visitor."

"What? How do you-"

She swore he was halfway down the street as she said it. She threw her hands up and watched him go before making her way to her apartment stoop.

Sure enough, there he was, sitting on the steps. It was dark, the streetlight had burned out months ago and was never replaced. But she didn't need a light, she knew his silhouette.

"Wren", he said softly. His voice had a huskiness to it that she wasn't used to. "Where the hell have you been?"


	7. Chapter 7

Zsasz pulled into the empty parking garage and killed the engine. He sat staring at the wall, dissatisfied. Drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Arched his back and rolled his shoulders. He didn't want to deal with it right now, but he didn't really have much choice.

He was repaying an old debt. Her name was Annah. She was tallish, average build, brunette. Dark brown eyes and full, naturally pretty lips. Currently, she was secured to a large, heavy metal chair in the middle of a cold room. Ankles and wrists cuffed, mouth taped.

She was different from the others-she put up absolutely no fight. This was astonishing to him. It wasn't that she wasn't completely terrified-this was more than apparent in her eyes. She might have thought if she behaved and kept quiet he would let her go. It's a reasonable rationale for a victim to have, when he thought about it, but no one else had taken that approach. His only quiet victims were the few that also had quiet demeanors and miserable lives (these were his favorite).

He made his way to a marble table on the far side of the room that held a wide variety of knives. A memory flashed across his mind as he picked up a medium sized scalpel. It was Wren, in the back room of the library, crying as she placed some books on a shelf. When her arms were empty, she sniffled and crossed her arms over her chest as she tried to compose herself.

That was over a month ago, long before she knew he'd been following her.

When he looked back to Annah, her eyes were closed tightly, tears rolling silently down her pretty cheeks, head down.

"Look, kid…", he sighed heavily. As if anything he could say would make the girl feel better. She was about to be murdered. He couldn't even believe he was giving it a second thought. Was he actually feeling a bit of...remorse? What was going on with him?

In front of her now, he knelt, nearly eye level. He pressed the scalpel to her throat then removed it. He lifted her shirt, exposing vulnerable skin, and repositioned it against her abdomen. Wren invaded his thoughts again, and he wondered what it would feel like to cut her skin...would he even be able to do it, how would it make him feel...her warm blood spilling over his hands...

He felt both desire and disgust.

"Sorry", he said, putting the blade back on her throat, slicing cleanly from one side to the other.

He didn't move for a while, staring at a clock on the wall in front of him. Watching the seconds turn to minutes, unwilling to look at the girl. He didn't want to be in the room anymore.

Back in the car, he returned a call he missed while he was taking care of the girl.

"It's done", he said gruffly.

"Where is she?" The voice on the other end sounded old and emotionless.

"She's still in there. Do what you want with the body, that's not my job."

"Dump her in the river", his voice was irritated.

Victor scowled. "I said I'm fucking done." He hung up the phone.

Later, he would take off his shirt, draping it over the door. He'd pick up a small blade, arm out and turned upwards to break the skin. The first of a new cluster of tally marks. The skin was tender there, a few inches from his underarm, and it burned as a few beads of blood bloomed on his skin.

He wasn't even smiling this time.


End file.
